


The Space Between

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, Friendship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-26
Updated: 2005-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: It





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to _Just a Little_. I wasn't planning on writing a sequel, but after several reviews requesting  something and the realization I had grown to enjoy this little world I created, a sequel was born. The title comes from a Dave Matthews Band song, but only the title. I heard it and it spawned bunnies. This begins six months after the Epilogue, one year after killing Voldemort and being released from the dungeon.

**The Space Between  
Part I**

The worst of it still sneaks up on me – usually in the middle of the night or when I'm otherwise least expecting it. It disturbs Ron and Hermione when I awaken in the night trembling and screaming, reliving the events in Voldemort's dungeon. After a year, things should be better, right? I stopped having screaming nightmares after Cedric's and Sirius' deaths within a few months.

Maybe that's why I chose to leave the Aurors. When, after six months, I still couldn't face dealing with Death Eaters in a kill-or-be-killed situation, I handed in my resignation. By the time I got home that day, owls with job offers were lined up on the windowsill. I had Hermione bin them for a couple of weeks, but when they didn't stop, I began reading them.

The variety of positions people were willing to offer me based on nothing but my name surprised me. If I had wanted, I could have been an "exotic wizard dancer" in a new club in Diagon Alley – which Ron and Hermione laughed at until I provided a sample of what the job might entail. After that, they began screening the offers. "Protecting me" they called it.

I could have gone to work in the Ministry, practically naming the position I wanted. Luckily for Minister Fudge, I don't _want_ the responsibility of any job within the Ministry right now. I'm tired of people looking to me for all the answers when I have none. If it weren't for Hermione and Ron, I wouldn't have made it this far.

A final heave shoves my robes, armguards and pads into my locker. When all was said and done, I accepted the offer from Puddlemere United as their reserve Seeker. Two months ago, the primary Seeker crashed horrifically into the stands during an exhibition match against the Ballycastle Bats. She was too traumatized to return – something I could understand completely.

So, I'm the starting Seeker for one of England's oldest Quidditch teams, a position I earned on talent. I'm sure my name doesn't hurt my standing, but it's my skills and talent that got me here. Ron did go through a withdrawal period when I turned down the Cannons, but has made a compromise with himself by coming to my matches dressed in Chudley orange. That is, he attends when he's available.

Ron went back to work as an Auror three months ago. I see him becoming darker with each assignment, so I know he hasn't worked out all his demons yet. Hermione worries about him more than I do – but that could be because on his worst days, he returns home and attacks me.

Hermione and I figured out after a couple of weeks that Ron's days could be judged by which of us he turned to first, providing we were both home. On days with few difficulties or little trauma, Hermione gets Ron's first attentions. The days Ron doesn't talk about are the ones in which he attacks me first, the rougher the better. It's hard for me to deny him because, through the Killing Curse scar we share, I can feel his strongest emotions. So, I let him work out his feelings by being passive, submitting to his attentions as it were.

"Hey, Potter!" one of the Beaters, Adam Davidson, calls.

Looking up, I smile at him. "Yeah?"

"Great practice," he says from the doorway. "Were you trying to beat your own record?"

Embarrassed, I blush. The record for fastest catch had been held by a Seeker who had gone on to play for England in the World Cup. Until I arrived. I wasn't aiming to beat it, but during my second practice as lead Seeker, I caught the Snitch in a minute and a half. During the practice just finished, I caught it within two minutes twice.

I shrug and grin. "What can I say. I'm good."

Davidson throws a towel at me before laughing and exiting the changing room.

Buttoning up my shirt, I finish changing. The three of us are going out tonight. Though it's close to the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, it will really be more a celebration of our survival. With a grim smile, I rub the scar on my chest.

I make my way out of the changing room, heading to the player Apparition point. Once I started on the team, so many people – mostly young witches – began attending the practices and trying to sneak into the changing room that the team owners warded off the changing rooms and set up a secure Apparition point for the players.

Before I get out the door, something sharp stabs me in the chest. Suddenly breathless, I try to sit on one of the benches, miss, and fall to the floor. _Something has happened to Hermione or Ron_ , I think fleetingly. I try to tamp down the feeling of panic surging through me, but can't.

Breathing heavily, I roll onto my side into a fetal position. No one comes to investigate the noise I'm making – a distinct keening sound – so all my teammates must have left by now. _Get a hold of yourself, Potter. Are you a man or a mouse?_ That thought, so like something Hermione would say, gets me in motion.

Slowly, I stretch myself out again. Panting, I stand up, pressing hard on my chest scar. Once up and leaning heavily against the wall, I do my best to shut down the pain.

After a long minute, I am able to control it using, ironically, the same method I used to use to shut out Voldemort. I trace way back along the connection. The pain is from both Ron and Hermione. Ice courses through my veins. If both of them are in trouble, that doesn't bode well.

Scrambling out the door finally, I move to the Apparition point. Since we live in a Muggle neighborhood, we regularly Apparate into the backyard or to a wizarding pub a few blocks away.

Not knowing what I'll find when I arrive home, I decide to Apparate to the pub. Hopefully, that will allow a few minutes to assess the situation rather than being ambushed as soon as I appear.

Appearing with a small pop at the back of the pub, I allow myself a brief smile at the first thought in my head: _I didn't splinch myself._

My smile disintegrates almost immediately. The pub, whose only claim to fame is that Harry Potter lives nearby, is decimated. I pull my wand. Casting a revealing spell shows that the Killing Curse was used, liberally.

Tears prickle at my eyes as I survey the destruction. At least twenty people dead. Some seem to have tried to fight back – their wands are out – but others were hit in the back, totally unaware. I spot the two weeknight waitresses, Sue and Annie, slumped over the bar.

_Holy bloody fucking hell. What happened here?_ I pick my way carefully through the upturned tables and bodies. _Hasn't there been enough death and destruction?_ It reminds me all too eerily of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Finding the door, I escape. I should stay to see if there's anything I can do, but I can't stomach it. I should stay and call the Ministry, but I don't want to delay any further. Besides, I don't want to look at death.

The night air is cold, colder than it should be for August. In addition to the pain that still surges through me from my scar – pain which I can now identify as the Cruciatus Curse being applied – and the ice in my veins, an awful foreboding fills me. _You killed Voldemort, why are you so afraid now?_

I begin running the ten blocks to our house. Knowing something is happening, but not knowing what, is driving me crazy.

Panting, I turn the corner. What I see stops me cold. Emotions rage within me: horror, shock, fear, worry, hate, disbelief. It's worse than my discovery of the pub massacre. My knees suddenly go weak and I fall to the sidewalk.

It's only when the neighbor's porcelain garden gnome – which amuses Ron – explodes that I realize I've lost control. Helplessly, I try to reign in my emotions before I destroy the neighborhood. Panting, trembling and close to retching, I manage to rein myself in after a minute. Then I look up at the house again.

I walk toward it like a zombie. With every step, I work on ruthlessly shutting down every emotion, especially the strong feelings toward Ron and Hermione. It's the only way I'll survive what I find inside.

For, floating above our house, its green shade shining brightly against the ink-black sky, is the Dark Mark.


	2. Part II

**The Space Between  
Part II**

The ice in my veins thaws with every step closer to our house. Ron and Hermione are the two people that keep me anchored – I've lost everyone else close to my heart. If something extreme has happened to either one, I don't know if I could bear it.

I swallow hard to keep my emotions in check.

I'm close enough now to see shadowy forms through the front windows. A red flash of light directed downward sends pain through my chest scar like a poison eating away at me from the inside. _What the hell is happening in there?_

Either Ron or Hermione has been cursed again, I can tell, but why are they still alive? _They're waiting for you,_ a sinister voice whispers in my mind.

Rather than make my presence known by entering through the front door, I sneak toward the back, ducking under windows. As I suspected, there are two Death Eaters perched on the back step, waiting for me to Apparate into the backyard.

The surveillance they employed worked well to determine the end of Quidditch practice and my usual path home. Until now. They're obviously unaware of the way the scar we share works.

_They probably think it works the same as the one I shared with Voldemort – that I only "see" something when there are evil thoughts – and therefore is useless._

Death Eaters always underestimate me.

Taking careful aim with my wand, I Petrify then Stun both the men on the back stoop, leaving them sitting on the step but frozen in place and unconscious. Keeping low beneath the windows, I walk to the back door and crouch beneath its window.

The back door leads directly into the kitchen, which then leads into both the dining area and the living room. From what I saw at the front of the house, Ron and Hermione are in the living room. I stand up slowly to peer through the window in the back door. I could use a revealing spell, but I don't know if there are wards up to detect my magic if I use it on the house.

There is no one in the kitchen, but I can see the shadow of two Death Eaters in the living room. I drop back onto my heels.

_Wait a minute. Why is the Dark Mark above the house if the Death Eaters are still here?_ When Voldemort led them, the Mark was always cast after the deeds were done but before the Death Eaters left. So why had they cast it without leaving?

_Unless it's to drive you to lose control._ Hermione is seen as the brains of the operation, Ron as strategy. _They must think I'm the muscle._ I give a sarcastic, snorting laugh at that thought. But that still doesn't tell me why they cast the Mark without leaving.

They must know that we live in a very Muggle neighborhood; there are no wizards around to see the Mark. Those wizards that might be near were murdered in the pub. Therefore, to cast it only torments me since they've trapped Ron and Hermione inside. I haven't reported the pub massacre, so there will be no Aurors investigating.

The Death Eaters expected me to Apparate into the backyard as usual because they laid an ambush for me. Rocking a bit on my heels, I try to remember Ron's schedule.

Unfortunately, when I do remember, I can't stop a noise of frustration from escaping. He's off because we were supposed to go out. There will be no Aurors searching for him. _Fuck. Think, Potter, what is going on?_

That the situation is a trap is obvious. What is less obvious is why. Why are the remaining Death Eaters trying to trap me? Why have they not taken Hermione and Ron somewhere else as prisoners – as bait for me? Why was there an ambush set up for me?

I feel a pulling sensation at my chest, ripping me from my thoughts. _That's different_. Most of the sensation I feel at the scar is physical manifestation of emotional turbulence – so Hermione explains. I've _never_ felt a pulling sensation.

Standing up just enough to peer in the window again, it's all I can do not to rush the door and shout the Killing Curse at the man I see on the other side.

Draco Malfoy.

_That explains everything._

Malfoy has thrown Hermione onto the kitchen table.

To vent some of my frustration so I _don't_ rush the door, I kick one of the stunned Death Eaters in the back. He falls over onto the grass with a muted thud. _Crabbe. The other must be Goyle_. Lovely.

The pulling sensation twists and I wonder if my lungs will explode. Sucking breath through my gritted teeth, I glance in the window again.

Hermione is doing her best to fight Malfoy off. I cheer silently when she slams her fist into his jaw – the lessons Ron and I have been giving her about self-defense are paying off, unfortunately.

It's only when Malfoy shakes off her punch and grabs her hands, pinning them against the table above her head do I realize she's only in a towel.

_Fucking hell, she must have been in the shower._ I blink. _State the obvious. You're a right genius, aren't you?_

_If Hermione was in the shower and Malfoy dragged her into the kitchen – or assaulted her there at least – where's Ron?_

I'm torn by indecision. Ron must still be in the living room. There were two Death Eaters I saw from the front of the house – correction, Malfoy and another bastard. _I wonder if it's his father._ Therefore, the other bastard must have Ron in the living room.

I fall to a sitting position against the house. Concentrating on the pulling and twisting sensation in my chest, I pick my way back along the connection.

Fear, danger, panic, anger, and pain from Hermione. I offer up silent apology for not being able to help her yet, knowing I should be protecting her.

Pain from Ron. Nothing else, just pain. He must have been the one to suffer the Cruciatus.

I haven't tried to send feelings back to them via this link before, but I make the attempt now. To Ron, I try to send hope and comfort. I am too familiar with the effects of Cruciatus. To Hermione, I try to send strength and power. Maybe she can try to use wandless magic to kick Malfoy's arse.

A trickle of hope filters back to me from Ron. The relief that floods through me makes me light-headed and takes my breath away. _He's alive._

If I could only come up with some way to take out Malfoy while not alerting the Death Eater torturing Ron of my presence. I look through the window again.

Malfoy still has Hermione pinned, but has moved her so she's laid out fully on the table, her legs no longer dangling over the edge. Her hands are clawing at his back and shoulders, drawing blood even through his shirt, and she's kicking to try to dislodge him.

I can't stand watching her be mauled. Anger surges within me again. Hermione doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. No woman does.

_If they've put up wards, they'll expect me to use_ Alohomora _to open the door._ I decide to use stealth instead of the brute force – whether physical or magical – I want to use and seems to be expected of me.

Turning the knob slowly, delighted to discover it unlocked, I open the door just far enough to slip into the kitchen. I set my wand on the counter and close the door behind me just as quietly.

Malfoy must have cast a silencing spell on the kitchen, because once I'm inside, I can hear Malfoy's words to Hermione. I forcibly remind myself that if I don't control my anger, I'll lose control of my magic with potentially horrific consequences.

Through the haze that has settled over my mind, all I hear are " _...sharing with Potty and Weasel..._ " and Hermione's distressed whimpers.

Something primal takes over. I don't want to use magic to kill him. I want to use my bare hands. I want his blue blood spilt across my kitchen floor.

Malfoy is so engrossed in attempting to rape Hermione that I am able to crawl under the table. Lying on my back – and offering Hermione another silent apology – I kick the underside hard enough to knock one of Malfoy's legs over the edge.

That's all I need.

I grab his leg and pull. He falls inelegantly onto the floor, slamming his head and shoulders against the ground. Before he can recover, I pounce.

Straddling his waist, I slam my fist into his pretty-boy face, taking an unholy satisfaction in the spray of blood from his nose.

"Fuck you, Potter," he yells as he take a swing at me in retaliation. I lean backwards to dodge his fist.

When he bucks his hips, I over-balance and fall backwards. In the background, I hear Hermione scream. Malfoy scrambles for his wand. I'm able to kick his arm away, sending his wand clattering across the floor.

The resulting crack and cry from him tells me I broke his arm. I grin with malicious glee.

Malfoy turns to me, lashing out with one of his legs. His foot connects with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. Before I can recover, he attacks and we roll across the kitchen floor, coming to rest against the cabinets, Malfoy on top.

His hands latch around my neck, trying to choke me. Gagging, I grab at his fingers to pull them backwards attempting to free myself. Spots dance before my eyes. I hear Hermione scream at Malfoy, but can't make out any of the words.

I go limp within his grasp, trying both to fool him into believing I'm unconscious and to draw my magic together.

After a final squeeze to my throat, Malfoy releases me. I feel him turn to Hermione and stand.

"And now for you, Mudblood," he snarls, stalking across the room.

I feel murderous and helpless all at once. I still haven't recovered my breath, but I want Malfoy's blood – he will _not_ get to Hermione.

With effort, I manage to turn myself over and rise onto all fours, breathing heavily. Opening my eyes and looking over at Hermione, I manage to catch her eye. She's terrified. The only time I've seen her with a similar expression was when Voldemort gave her the choice of killing one of us.

_Get up, Potter! She needs you._

Grunting, I get up, holding onto the counter for support. The noise fails to draw Malfoy's attention, all of which is centered on Hermione. Pain and terror reverberate through me from my scar suddenly. I can't tell if it's from Hermione or Ron at this point.

I snatch my wand from the countertop and point it at Malfoy. His hands are at the fastenings of his belt.

As much as I want to kill him, preferably with my hands, I refuse to use the Killing Curse. Instead, I fire _Petrificus Totalus_ at him.

Malfoy falls to the floor with a loud thud, hands and arms now pinned to his sides. I walk over to his prone body. His nose is still bleeding – _and I hope I broke that for you, you fucking git_ – and bruises are already beginning to appear on his face.

If looks could kill, I would have been slain by those cold grey eyes. Baring my teeth at him – it can in no way be called a smile – I kick him in the ribs.

Then I turn my attention to Hermione.

All it takes is for me to look at her and she launches herself at me. I barely have time to open my arms before she leaps. I stagger backwards once she makes contact, but don't let go.

We clutch each other like survivors from a sinking ship. She sobs into my shoulder as I rub her back murmuring what I hope are calming words.

Relief and despair flood through the scar. The relief I assume comes from Hermione, the despair from Ron. Unfortunately, Hermione is in no shape to help anyone, as much as she may want to.

With a final kiss pressed into her hair, I pull back and look at her. Even tear-stained, she's beautiful. I smooth the hair back from her face.

"Hermione, watch Malfoy. I have to go to Ron," I say gently. I hate watching the fear fill her eyes again.

But, with a gentle kiss to my lips, she says, "Help him."

As we part, I become aware again that she's still only in the towel. I take my shirt off and offer it to her. Smiling, she shrugs into it, then presses her scarred palm against my chest.

When the two meet, energy and lust surge through me, bringing me nearly to my knees. Against the paleness of Hermione's face, I can see the reflection of my now-glowing eyes.

_Damn, that hasn't happened before, either. This is just a day full of surprises._


	3. Part III

**The Space Between  
Part III**

"Harry?" Hermione asks, uncertainty in her voice.

I close my eyes and reply, "Just keep an eye on Malfoy."

I sense her nod. Telling myself she'll be fine – uselessly trying to convince myself is more like it – I open my eyes and make my way into the living room.

Despite Hermione's fortification and reassurance, I'm still terrified to walk through that doorway. I don't want to see Ron injured, bleeding or unconscious.

I don't mind riding to Hermione's rescue. Some part of me feels it's required – those antiquated gender roles or my "hero complex" she tells me – and it doesn't bother me.

But having to come to Ron's rescue shakes me to my core. Ron is strong and vibrant, he shouldn't need rescuing.

Nothing he does is on a small scale. When he's injured, it always seems to me as if someone has clipped his wings so he can't soar anymore. He makes an awful patient. Not that I'm any better, but I've come to understand _some_ time in Hospital is necessary in my life. Ron hasn't been injured as often as I and hasn't learned to accept it yet.

Clutching my wand, I turn the corner into the living room. As gut-wrenching as seeing Malfoy atop Hermione intending rape was, what I see now twists my mind almost as if I can't accept what my eyes are seeing.

Horror and anger surge within me. When the mix has almost bubbled to the top, I notice that faint green glow again.

_My eyes._ I have to forcibly remind myself that it is _not Avada Kedavra_ I'm seeing. The color and shadow are uncomfortably similar, though.

That glow is cast upon the scene in front of me.

Ron is laid flat on his back on the rug, arms and legs manacled to the floor. The bleeding abrasions at his wrists and ankles remind me uncomfortably of Voldemort's dungeon.

Then he turns his head and I meet his eyes. Those blue eyes are bloodshot, his nose bleeding profusely and there is a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

It's all I can do to keep myself together. If I were to find Hermione in this condition, I'd want to kill the bastard who did it, then help her. But for Ron...for Ron, I want to gather him in my arms and not let go.

Then I notice the man standing above him and am not surprised.

Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy Senior looks up, meeting my glowing gaze with a cool stare.

"Potter," he spits, using my name as an epithet.

I say nothing. Actually, I expect him to Apparate out at any moment like he usually does. I'm surprised he's stayed this long.

"Your lovers are in a bit of a bind," he drawls. A flick of his wand elicits a moan of pain from Ron as little cuts appear on his arms.

"A lovely little curse I found," Malfoy continues conversationally. "I'm so glad to be testing it this evening." I'm not sure if he thinks he's impressing me or if he's taunting me.

Whichever it is, I killed Voldemort with the help of the two people he's trying to destroy. I'm not intimidated by Lucius Malfoy any more than I was by his son. I continue to say nothing, merely watch.

Though the glow from my eyes doesn't affect my sight, it does cast a sickly pallor over the two men before me. _But no one has made comment – can they even see it?_

Malfoy flicks his wand again and in the periphery of my vision I see Ron arch off the floor, grimacing in pain. The sight of Ron in such agony does nothing to calm the butterflies my stomach.

But, as I look at Malfoy, there is something strange about him. While I see his pale skin and eyes, so pale as to almost be translucent, I see darkness. When he casts the curse on Ron, it's almost as if there are shadows or smoke moving across his face.

I blink. _Am I losing my mind? What the hell am I seeing?_

"Going to do anything, Potter?" Malfoy says in a sugary-sweet tone that reminds me uncomfortably of Dolores Umbridge.

I can feel something building within me, something monstrous. Anger laced with magic. _The pathway to the Dark side_ , a voice inside my head tells me – and it sounds a lot like Frank Oz as Yoda.

I close my eyes and duck my head, listening to Malfoy Senior laugh, a sound at once amused and bitter.

"Do you know what this curse does, Potter?"

I have to remind myself that I shouldn't kill either Malfoy, but especially Senior. I want to. I want to give into the darkness and kill them, torture them, pay them back for all they've done.

I open my eyes and glare, otherwise unresponsive to his question. His face is now nearly hidden behind a layer of shadow.

_How can he see?_

Then he smiles and the darkness around him seems to leap in delight.

_What I'm seeing isn't real,_ I say slowly to myself. _It's covering him but he can't see it._

My thoughts are interrupted by Ron.

"Harry," Ron rasps. Before I can reply, Malfoy whips his wand down, slashing Ron's chest with the same laceration curse as he was using earlier. Blood wells against his white shirt as he arches against his bonds.

That shadow around Malfoy becomes almost opaque when he casts the curse. I shift my gaze to Ron. He has a faint shimmer around him, an iridescent red.

As he struggles against his bonds and the curse, it fades, leaving me more puzzled than before.

_I will figure this out._

I let my mind wander a bit, hoping I can make some connections. Unfortunately when I do, it's not about what I'm seeing, but about what I'm feeling.

Since our survival against Voldemort last year, there has been a tension between the three of us, a barrier of space we won't cross. I first noticed it with Hermione – the way she holds herself aloof from Ron and I, especially in the bedroom. But with Ron, it's so much more subtle that I didn't notice it until now.

Love. All the nonverbal ways we would show love have been absent. A cruel irony considering it was our love that destroyed Voldemort. I didn't notice its absence until he rasped my name. Hermione must have realized it was missing as well when she leapt into my arms. I would swear I felt a "click" as I held her, as if we'd locked together again.

Warmth floods me, love fills me. The scar on my chest burns, but in a good way this time.

The green glow intensifies. I drop to my knees from the force of it.

"Surrendering already, Potter?" Malfoy asks, delight threading through his voice. I ignore him for now.

I crawl next to Ron so I can place what I hope is a reassuring hand on his shoulder. When I touch him, it's as if a rainbow of color floods over him. He opens his eyes, but doesn't see the colors. The despair I had seen in them, the despair that rips me to the bone, slowly lifts.

His face, however, underneath the fading rainbow, is still cast in sickly relief by the green glow from my eyes.

_I wonder...if my eyes were blue like Ron's, would the glow be blue? Or is it the color of the curse that's glowing?_ I pause. _Or maybe it's not my eyes at all, but a glow around me as well._

Slowly, I redirect my gaze to Lucius Malfoy. That monstrous thing leaps within me again. It wants to kill him. It wants to rip him limb from limb and feed him to a Hippogriff. He is now completely shrouded in black, sometimes shot through with silver.

_Auras? Am I seeing auras?_ It would explain why Malfoy is now covered by darkness and why Ron flashes brightly when struck with a Dark curse.

_Great, something else to make me different._

"No surrender unless it's yours," I finally reply to Malfoy's question.

He grins, obviously delighted. "The tamed lion has teeth," he muses aloud, flicking his wand over Ron.

I sense Ron's pain and can see it in the way the light dims where the curse cuts him. _He's lacerating internal organs now,_ a voice tells me. I'm inclined to believe it since it sounds like Hermione's.

I turn, bend and brush a kiss over Ron's forehead. _Something_ flashes through me again at the additional skin contact, making me shudder from head to toe. From Ron's groan, I would suspect he felt something, too, since his aura briefly flashes green.

Standing unsteadily, I face Malfoy. By the combination of lascivious delight and disgusted horror on his face – which I can barely see for the darkness – he didn't miss my easy, familiar kiss to Ron's forehead.

"So the stories _are_ true," he coos. "How decadent." His tone of voice suggests that if it were anyone but Ron, Hermione and I, he'd ask to watch. My stomach twitches in revulsion. Silver threads dance around him.

I force myself to take three steps toward him. Unnoticed by Malfoy, I slip my ankle in Ron's hand and he grasps it tightly, allowing his scar direct contact with my skin. While not as powerful as Hermione's scar connecting with mine, this sensation still is powerful enough to nearly drive me to my knees. The resulting physical connection makes Ron's aura shine so brightly, it hurts my eyes. It also changes from an iridescent red to a pale green.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes then reopen them slowly. _I wonder what Malfoy sees in them. Does he see death? Does he see the Darkness I see surrounding him?_

Ron can't take much more without immediate medical attention, so I have to stop taunting Malfoy.

With the son, I used brute force. With the father, I need to use my mind.

Using Ron to increase my own power, I let our combined magic feed that monstrous darkness within me. Were it physical, it would be leaping and snarling with joy. However, it's contained within me and just grows.

"You know," Malfoy begins. "I'm growing tired of this game." He raises his wand and points it directly at me. "I don't know how you defeated the Dark Lord, but you're still nothing."

Years ago, I would have believed that. Thanks to Ron and Hermione, I know better now.

He whispers something under his breath and waves his wand in a tight arc. Fire burns across my bare chest as Malfoy's laceration curse cuts me from one bicep to the other.

_Fuck this._

I raise my wand and shout, " _Serpentsortia!_ "

A python slithers from the end of my wand. Before Malfoy can destroy it, I direct the snake to coil around him. It does, immobilizing Malfoy's arms and forcing his wand to drop harmlessly on the floor.

"Do you wisssh to kill him, massster?" the python asks.

"No, but you can sssqueeze him unconsssiousss," I respond in Parseltongue. Malfoy's protestations gradually end as he loses consciousness. The darkness around him fades from opaque to smoky, but stays. The python has the same shadowy aura.

_Bugger. Dark magic._

In the silence that follows, I hear Ron's weak laugh.

Pulling my ankle from his grasp, I scramble to lean down next to him. He smiles, meeting my eyes warmly. A quick scan of his body tells me he's in worse shape than he's letting on. As I look on, the light surrounding him is dimming.

"Did I ever tell you how sexy Parseltongue is?"

"No, you haven't," I reply. _How can I heal him? Can Hermione and I do it like they did for me?_ "It is?"

"Hell yes. All that hissing or something."

I grin. "Then we'll have to make use of it sometime, won't we?"

Ron laughs weakly, then moans in pain. Rattling his bonds, he asks, "Hey, Harry, can you get me free?"

"I'm sure Malfoy used some complicated spell," I hedge. I'm afraid of hurting him if I attempt to free him.

"Please try," he pleads. "I can't stand to be restrained anymore."

This was true. Before our time with Voldemort, we'd played at a few bondage games. Ron tolerated being tied up, I learned to enjoy it, but Hermione loved it. Since our experiences in the dungeon, however, Ron can't stand being restrained by anything. He says it gives him flashbacks.

The manacles are shrouded in both darkness and Dark. That beast within me rises to attention, whispering seductively that it can remove the restraints. It wants to destroy.

Taking a deep breath to drive that need back, I wave my wand over one manacle and utter the standard unlocking spell. It gets me nowhere – as I suspected. I try all the Light spells I know and none work. Glancing at Ron's face, I see that he's noticeably paler. _Bleeding._

I could ask Hermione to bring the junior Death Eater in and try her hand at the manacles, but I don't think she could deal with seeing Ron like this.

I give in as a last resort. _Let's see what this power inside me does._ The darkness within me unleashes itself.

Kneeling next to Ron's wrist, I hold my hands above the manacle. Then I let the beast within me loose. Green light flashes between my palms and the iron band, a light so bright I have to close my eyes.


	4. Part IV

**The Space Between  
Part IV**

"Harry?" Ron whispers.

I open my eyes. The manacle is nothing more than a pile of iron filings. _Fuck._

"What did you do, Harry?" Ron asks quietly, bringing his newly-free arm up to cradle it against his chest.

I blink. _That_ is the power that resides within me? Torn between fascination and horror, I turn to Ron. "I don't know," I answer. I'm not exactly sure I want to know, either.

A grin flickers across that expressive face. "Can you do it again?"

A bark of laughter escapes me. Relieved Ron doesn't see me as a freak, I say, "Sure." I move around him and repeat the process with each of the other three manacles.

By the time I'm finished, the beast inside me feels moderately appeased – I no longer feel the driving need to maim or destroy. I also can no longer see that green light.

Ron, however, looks worse. His freckles and hair are the only color to his skin; his aura – if that's what I'm seeing – is a pale red very close to his skin.

I stand and call for Hermione. After a minute, she enters, clutching my shirt tightly to herself and levitating Draco Malfoy's body in front of her.

_His face is bruising nicely._ I notice a few marks on Hermione's hands and wonder how much of the bruising on Malfoy Junior's face is due to our fight in the kitchen and how much Hermione inflicted once he was incapacitated.

Once she sees Ron, she cries out his name and rushes to his side. Having lost her concentration, she lets Draco Malfoy's body fall to the floor with a resounding thud. I can't repress my grin at that.

She makes a quick scan of the room – noting Lucius Malfoy's predicament with a feral smile – then turns her full attention back to Ron. She falls to her knees much like I did and presses soft kisses to his face, resting her hands on his arm.

The light surrounding her flares when she touches Ron. It's a soft golden color that seems to match her somehow, making her radiant. I feel a smile touch my mouth for the first time since I left the locker room.

The longer Hermione stays in contact with Ron, the more the golden color starts to flow into the red, and the colored mists swirl together just above Ron's skin.

Hermione looks over her shoulder at me, red-rimmed eyes fierce. "Harry, get over here."

I mock-salute her, but follow orders. "Yes, ma'am."

Ron laughs weakly, groaning as the movement splits his lacerations open.

I kneel by Ron's side. Now that I don't have the pressure of fending off Lucius or Draco Malfoy, I look at my two – _what are they? My two what? Lovers? Partners? Soul mates? Shaggable dishes? Friends?_ No, they're more than friends; they are my lovers, my partners. Soul mates? Trite sentiment. Shaggable dishes? Yes, they are that.

I study Ron and Hermione. Hermione's golden aura is completely entwined with Ron's now. The red color of Ron's is strengthening the longer Hermione is in physical contact with him.

"We need to save him, Harry," Hermione says quietly.

"I would appreciate it," Ron chimes in.

"Git," I mutter affectionately. Ron merely grins and gasps.

I lift my gaze to Hermione's face. "What do I need to do?"

"Hands over his stomach." As she says it, she releases his arm and holds her hands, palms down, over his stomach. When she breaks physical contact with him, her golden light begins untangling from the red and coalescing around her hands.

With a deep breath to calm my nerves, I move my hands over Ron's stomach. I see the green light materialize around my hands and cloud my vision. "Ready."

"Try to draw your magic within and focus it." With the words, I watch as she pulls her aura in, reabsorbing it into her skin until she's glowing from the inside out. _Wow._

But when I do the same, I feel that beast within me awaken again. It wants to kill. The more I draw that green light inside myself, the more the darkness feeds on it. It feels like a creature buried inside me, feeding off me. I don't know how long I can fight it off before its sibilant voice seduces me.

It would be so easy to give in to the darkness, to give in to that seductive call and let everything go into the darkness and come out stronger.

I must have made some sort of noise, because both Hermione and Ron bring their eyes to mine.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asks. Ron repeats her question.

It's only then that I notice I'm shaking and gritting my teeth. I open my eyes and glare at Hermione, then Ron. It's all I can do not to attack one of them, to draw blood, to feast upon them.

_I wonder if this is how Remus feels every month?_

"Yes," I spit. "What now?"

Hermione looks taken aback at my abruptness and studies my face. I feel like I'm dying from the inside out.

Voice tentative, Hermione finally answers. "Push that healing power into Ron."

_She's afraid of me._

I want to cry. The _last_ thing I want is for Ron or Hermione to be afraid of me. Through our scar, I can feel her fear trickle through me, making me cold. The sensation wars with the bloodlust.

_I'm going insane._

Concentrating, I try to gather healing thoughts together, but I feel so fractured that all I can seem to collect are the dark parts. It feels like my skin will split open at any moment, revealing the monster within. The trembling worsens.

Hermione whimpers softly and I snap my head up. She's gently pushing that golden light into Ron. On her cheeks, glinting in the light, are tears. Ron's aura slowly brightens and moves further from his skin.

Before I can react, Hermione collapses upon Ron, exhausted. Ron's aura has improved – it's now a medium red and uniformly surrounding him, dark where Malfoy's lacerations were inflicted. But Hermione can do no more.

I yank my hands away with a small cry, closing my eyes. _Don't make me do this, Hermione. Don't._

It's up to me to save him now and I'm afraid I'll kill him instead.

"Harry?" Even before I open my eyes, I can feel Hermione's nervousness and fear like a ball knotted in my chest.

I snap my eyes open so quickly, she flinches. Anger flashes hot within me, anger at her for showing fear. Only when I realize Hermione is cowering against Ron do I notice my hand is raised, ready to strike.

"Harry?" she repeats, her voice small.

The Dark wants to strike her, to revel in that moment of shock, that stunned disbelief that her – _lover? soul mate? friend?_ – has struck her. It wants to see blood on her cut lip. It wants to see her shrinking back from me as I advance upon her. Fighting with myself, I clench my fist and jaw.

"I. Can't." Somehow, I manage to force the words between my teeth.

Before I can do the easy thing and give in to the Dark, I leap up and, grabbing my wand, fire a _Finite Incantatem_ at the snake wrapped around the elder Malfoy. It dissipates into a plume of black mist.

Finally letting the Dark spill through me, I awaken Lucius Malfoy. With grim delight, I watch him search the floor by touch for his wand. Bending, I retrieve it from under my foot.

"Looking for this, Lucius?" I hiss, twirling the ebony wand between my fingers.

Quicker than I would have thought for a man his age, he jumps to his feet, squaring off with me. He looks dismissively at Ron and Hermione before turning back to me.

"I see my son failed to subdue the Mudblood." His aura manifests itself once again with his words, shrouding him in a thick black shadow.

This time, however, I can see right through it. _I don't think this is a good thing._ I raise my right arm, pointing my wand at his head.

My aura is black.

There is no trace of green in the light that surrounds me. The deepest part of me is dismayed, disturbed. But the majority, the part that seems to be in control now, is delighted.

I hear shuffling to my left and I glance over. Hermione is struggling to pull Ron backwards out of the room. He is a nearly dead weight in her arms and she doesn't have the strength to pull him very far.

Lust surges within me when my shirt gapes open to expose most of both her breasts. Both the light and dark within me want to take her, brace her against the wall and thrust inside her. Were Ron well, the same urge to shove him against the wall – or table, or over the back of the sofa – would be there.

Lucius Malfoy grunts softly, drawing my attention away from my lovers and back to him.

His gaze devours Hermione, tracing the edges of my shirt, divesting her of it in his mind's eye. His tongue slips out of his mouth to lick his upper lip as if in anticipation.

_If Malfoy Junior was supposed to rape Hermione, was Malfoy Senior going to have seconds?_ Another memory surfaces, this one tinged with pain more excruciating than the current moment. _What is it with Death Eaters wanting to rape Hermione? It was the same way in Voldemort's dungeon._

Almost physical pain wrenches my stomach as my disgust – which must be Light – and the Dark sadistic thrill and the thought war with each other. The idea that Hermione was going to be some sort of plaything for the Malfoys makes me nauseous. It would go toward explaining Malfoy Junior's earlier comment about sharing with "Potty and Weasel." But sharing with his _father_? It's all I can do not to retch on the hardwood floor.

Silently, I stalk behind Malfoy Senior. Not even when I'm with Ron have I ever been so thankful I grew to six feet tall the last two years of school. My height now allows me to be of even height with Lucius Malfoy.

Like the snake I conjured earlier, I wrap my arms around him – sliding my arms under his to pin his arms at shoulder height – my right hand shoving my wand against the underside of his chin, my left hand wrapped in his hair and pulling his head to one side.

"Looks like you got distracted, Lucius," I hiss into his ear, tightening my hold when he begins to struggle. "Lusting after a Mudblood? What _would_ Voldemort say?"

His struggles lessen but don't cease. He tries to kick my shins, but a softly whispered shield spell protects my vital body parts.

"The Dark Lord is dead." His voice is flat and laced with a faint sneer.

The words of my reply come unbidden to my lips before I can think about it. "Not entirely – he's more alive than you think."


	5. Part V

**Author's Note:** Since the original idea of this series came from a scene _Empire Strikes Back_ , it's only fair that I get ideas for this chapter from _Star Wars_ and _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ (to continue with the Harrison Ford theme).

**The Space Between  
Part V**

_What? What the_ fuck _did I just say?_ No, no, no. Whatever Dark, writhing thing is inside me, it is _not_ Voldemort. _I am not harboring Voldemort in my soul._

The overwhelming urge to stamp my foot and stick my fingers in my ears while chanting, "No!" at the top of my lungs dissipates as I shove my wand further into Lucius Malfoy's neck.

"Harry?"

I jerk my head up sharply, fixing Hermione with a withering glare. I don't have time for her right now. At my look, she merely opens and closes her mouth, saying nothing.

The hurt on her face – that she transmits through our shared scars – tears at my soul. Conflicted, I think I need to say something to her, to say anything to her, to help comfort her. My thoughts are derailed when my captive begins protesting his treatment.

Malfoy Senior twists slightly in my grasp, testing for a weak spot. I return my full attention to him and tighten my hold on his throat, thumb and forefinger against his carotid arteries – tightening until he sags in my arms, not quite unconscious. I allow him to drop to the floor and toss his wand away into the corner.

"You shouldn't try that, Lucius," I warn, amused. Smiling, I whip my wand down and cast an _Ennervate_ spell on Malfoy Junior. "Let's make things a little more interesting, shall we?"

Malfoy Junior shakes his head as if to clear cobwebs, then glares malevolently at me. I smile – and in the corner of my eye I see Hermione shudder in reaction.

"Potter," he spits. Running his eyes up and down my body, a smirk spreads across his face at my half-clad state. "Did you have a proposition to make? Weasley not enough man for you?"

I continue to smile, saying nothing. Malfoy shifts nervously after a long minute of silence, his aura deepening to a grey-silver. Not a trace of black.

_How surprising. I guess he is different from his father in some respects._

"You aren't as evil as you think you are, ferret," I finally respond.

He wasn't expecting that.

"What?" he exclaims, outraged, as he scrambles to his feet.

I turn to Hermione and Ron and, with a wave of my left hand, send the vase Hermione had raised to bash Malfoy over the head with crashing into the wall.

"Stay out," I growl. She cowers again and I hear Ron's voice mumbling something to her, but can't distinguish the words. She replies in a soft whisper.

Their voices are just low enough to dance sensually along my nerves. They remind me of the low murmurings between us in bed.

With my attention distracted, Malfoy Junior attempts to tackle me. In the corner of my eye, I see him duck his head slightly and run at me. Shifting my arm slightly, I use my hand to stop him several feet away as effectively as throwing up a wall in the middle of the room.

"Why, Draco, did I hit a sore spot? Did you _want_ to be as evil as Daddy?" Turning to fully face him, I wag my index finger at him as if chastising a child. "Didn't Daddy ever teach you not to pick fights with boys bigger – or more powerful – than you?"

"Bastard," he manages to spit out, struggling against the invisible wall I erected.

My eyes narrow. "I assure you...my parents were married." I lower my hand slightly and change position as if to wrap my hand around his throat.

Which isn't so far from the truth since that is exactly what it feels like for Malfoy Junior. I pinch my index finger and thumb closer together, squeezing his carotid arteries with a spell much like I did to his father with my bare hand.

When he begins prying at the virtual fingers around his throat, I laugh and, with a wave of my arm, fling him against the wall much as I did the vase. He lands against it with such force, several pictures crash to the floor, sending shattered glass into the room and raining down on Malfoy.

The Dark inside me is exalting in this use of destructive power like a dark pixie let loose on my soul. Though my mind knows it's wrong, my conscience is suppressed and my magic thrums through me like an electrical current just under my skin.

I can feel Hermione's horror, hurt and dismay, tinged with anger, but it's so small compared to this other Dark, seductive power, that I dismiss it.

Lucius Malfoy groans behind me.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," I begin, spinning on my heel to look down upon him. "Could your precious Voldemort do that?"

He rubs his throat, slowly rising to his feet.

"I don't recall him ever quite using that method of...persuasion," he drawls, glancing dismissively at his son. I suppose lying in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall isn't enough to generate paternal sympathy among Malfoys.

Malfoy gives me the same slow once-over his son did, as if suddenly seeing me in a new light with the Dark in control. Something inside me wants to squirm under the scrutiny. Instead, I drop my wand arm lazily at my side and prop my other hand on my hip.

_Insolence, project insolence._

A secret smile broadens Malfoy's mouth. With a distinct sneer in his cultured voice, he asks, " _Is_ Weasley enough of a man for you?"

Revulsion.

It's revulsion that pours through me. That not one but _both_ Malfoy men would proposition me – after trying to rape Hermione and kill the three of us – is beyond disgusting.

I saunter up to him, stopping well within his personal space. Those grey eyes flare wider but he allows no other sign of surprise to show.

Tapping my wand impatiently against my thigh, I lean close enough to kiss him – were I so inclined. Lifting my left hand, I trail my index finger over Lucius Malfoy's lips...down his jaw...down his neck. My touch skims over his skin, light enough to cause goose bumps.

Hermione's dismay at my actions seeps into me like a slow leak in an otherwise tight dam.

Delight leaps inside me when Malfoy's eyes darken with desire.

_Bloody fucking bastard._

"You are nothing, Lucius Malfoy," I drawl sweetly, nearly matching his trademark voice of loathing, as I trail my finger lower...over his shirt buttons...to his waist...to his fly.

A wisp of nervousness is evident in his sudden swallow and blink. He allows no other sign of weakness to show.

I cup him, thoroughly disgusted to find him hard.

_Given his proclivities and that Hermione and I are both half-naked in front of him,_ why _am I surprised he's hard?_

I lean forward and flick my tongue over his lips, enjoying his sudden intake of breath and the tensing of his body.

"Nothing," I repeat.

Staring until he meets my gaze, I allow the corners of my mouth to turn up in what might be mistaken for a smile. He shivers.

I caress him once through his trousers, enough to raise his hopes so to speak, then brutally squeeze and twist. I intend to cause damage. I intend to cause pain.

He screams, the sound immersing me in joy as complete as jumping into the Weasley's lake on a hot day. Tears spring to his eyes, making them seem human for the first time since I first saw them at age 12.

When he drops to his knees, a bark of laughter escapes me. I bend low to rasp in his ear, "You are nothing compared to the man Ron Weasley is."

Love surges through me with my words, causing an almost-physical pain that makes me double over, groaning. It feels even more like I'm losing my mind now.

Before I can reflect on the physical reaction, my Dark instincts take over. Lifting my wand, I call, " _Accio_ Lucius' wand." The ebony wand rockets into my hand from the corner where I threw it.

Straightening up once again, I toss the wand to Malfoy. It clatters on the floor before him. He grasps it with one hand and points it at me, then brings his eyes up to glare at me from under his curtain of white-blonde hair.

The pure hatred in his gaze throws me back in time to the day I freed Dobby. He would have cast an Unforgivable curse on me that day, I'm sure, had Dobby not thrown him down a stairwell and had nearly the exact same look in his eye.

"Your parents weren't half as much fund to taunt," he says, with a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

The statement – so unexpected in the current situation – leave me speechless for a moment. Malfoy takes the opportunity to stand, pointing his wand at my heart.

"Oh, yes, that's right," he adds derisively. His aura has remanifested itself, still a nearly opaque black but quite easy for me to see through. "You didn't know your parents – the precious Potter and jumped up Mudblood."

_He's just trying to get a rise out of you, Potter. Don't take the bait._

"Better than pureblood inbreeding," I respond. Cocking my head to one side and again idly tapping my wand against my thigh, I add, "Tell me, if the bitch isn't a good breeder, do you shoot her? Do you kill the runt of the litter?"

Red is not a good color for a Malfoy. Fury rushes into his cheeks, staining them red with anger. It clashes horribly with the white-blonde hair and makes him look like a clown. _But you've finally got an honest reaction out of him._

Malfoy narrows his eyes at me. His aura flashes silver for a moment while he regains control of himself. Then, with a genuine smile, he shifts his wand from my heart to Hermione.

When worry surges through me, it is accompanied by pain. I can't tell if the worry is mine or Hermione's, but it's causing the same gut-wrenching pain as my love for Ron. Buried at the back of my mind is the thought that anything positive wars with the Dark and causes pain, but I still don't have time to examine it.

Because, with careful deliberation, Malfoy casts the Killing Curse at Hermione.

However, before he can complete the two words, I scream, "NO!" and, pointing my wand at Malfoy before I can fully think about it, I lift him off the floor like a puppet. He dangles in the air, unable to finish the curse.

In a voice that sounds nothing like my own, I cast a spell I've never learned, though the results are fascinating: " _Aufero Pectus._ "

An invisible scalpel incises Malfoy's chest over his breastbone. Blood pours forth from the wound as the scalpel drives deeper.

Malfoy's screams are different from those earlier as he's surgically cut open – while still fully conscious.

Hermione's horror is felt distantly. I feel it with the same clinical detachment I'm using to watch Malfoy being sliced open. The same fascination as holding a magnifying glass over a bug and watching it burn to death.

The invisible scalpel turns, slowly cutting a circle into his chest.

A tugging on my right arm – my upraised wand arm – draws my attention to my side.

It's Hermione. I watch her say something to me, but can't hear the words. It's just her mouth, that beautiful, sluttish mouth, moving silently.

_Lust._ Lust rockets through me as I watch her. Reaching across my body, I grip her chin with my left hand and bend down to kiss her brutally. I taste blood.

When Malfoy's screaming ceases suddenly, I break off the kiss, shoving Hermione away, returning my attention to my victim.

There is a wet, bloody red hole in his chest. His heart lies on the floor at his feet.


	6. Part VI

**The Space Between  
Part VI**

The darkness inside me rejoices. I can almost hear it with my ears calling for my total submission, to allow myself to be subsumed by the Dark, now that I've killed a man in such a manner, just this side of cold blood.

Abruptly, I drop my arm, dropping Lucius Malfoy's body to the floor as well. It lands with a wet thud that twists my stomach.

It takes me a long moment of absolute stillness before I can identify my emotion as shock. The two parts of me are warring - the Dark rejoicing in my actually performing a spell Voldemort must have transferred to me and the Light wanting nothing more than to make me retch in horror before curling up between Ron and Hermione to beg forgiveness.

_Ron and Hermione. Oh, hell, what have I done?_

Distantly, I notice my limbs are shaking. My wand falls to the floor with a clatter once I can no longer hold it in my trembling fingers. Pain jolts through me almost as an afterthought when I fall to my knees. A keening sound fills the room. I look over at Hermione questioningly, thinking she's making the noise.

But, to my continuing horror, she is kneeling on the floor, head in her hands, sobbing.

_I'm the one keening._ The sound grates on my ears, but I can't seem to stop.

Agony pours through my chest - from the scar and the Dark rebelling in retreat - as shock, remorse and horror fill me. My stomach twists in knots as I try not to vomit on the floor at what I've done.

A wet, coppery scent begins to permeate the room. _Blood._ Even if the Dark hadn't imprinted that knowledge, I would know that scent. It imprinted itself upon my memories at the Battle of Hogwarts, then again during our imprisonment last year.

I want desperately to be able to stand up, heal Ron, grasp Hermione, and feel proud of what I've done. But I can't. How can I face them after what I've done to Malfoy?

_Shit, was it only two hours ago that I was proud and cocky in the Puddlemere locker room? We were going to celebrate our anniversary tonight and now I've gone and fucked it up._

Fear more powerful than that which flooded through me when I saw Malfoy Junior attacking Hermione or Malfoy Senior torturing Ron drives ice into my veins.

_What if they can't forgive me? How will I live without them?_

I would rather die than live without them. They're everything to me and have been since we were eleven - the best parts of me come from them. Without them, I'm nothing.

Talons of pain sink themselves into my heart. The Dark wants to take advantage of my weakness, my despair and I'm almost willing to let it.

"Harry?"

I blink rapidly and slowly turn to Hermione, silencing my keening and rocking. Her face - I fight the urge to be sick at my earlier thought that she'd looked sluttish - is tear-stained. Her soft golden aura is whole and radiant around her.

"Yes?" My voice comes out as a croak. Clearing my throat, I try again. "Yes, Hermione?"

She reaches for me and I flinch. It's a completely involuntary reaction borne of my fear - no, expectation - of rejection. The years of conditioning with the Dursleys is hard to overcome. But the resulting anguish I see on her face and feel through our scar compels me to reach across the space between us to grasp her hand.

Her smile is watery, but genuine. Studying her more closely, I see bruises forming on her jaw and left cheekbone from Malfoy Junior. I brutally suppress the desire for revenge for fear of reawakening the Dark.

Moving closer to me on her knees, she kisses my hand, then chest. Her lips against my scar sends reassurance through me like a fuzzy blanket in the winter.

When she places her left palm to my chest - matching our scars - the immensity of love that fills me brings tears to my eyes. The Dark talons anchored in my heart retract under the unremitting force of Hermione's love.

And, in a burst of Light energy, her aura disappears. Mine flashes green - nothing black, just green - before disappearing as well.

_So...Voldemort could read auras._ The thought flits through my mind briefly before being driven out by the sudden earth-shattering realization that Hermione still loves me. Whether she has forgiven me or not will have to wait.

But she still _loves_ me.

Some of my utter joy at that realization must be transmitted back to her because her eyes suddenly flare before half-closing in a look of desire.

"Harry?" she whispers uncertainly.

I open my mouth to say I'm fine, but realize I'm not. I'm a mess. The evening we had been so looking forward to has become a jumble of curses, injury and death.

As I look into her soft brown eyes, I hold her hand to my chest and whisper in a broken voice, "I love you."

Her smile is radiant. Its warmth begins to fill the cold parts of my soul.

However, she fails to _tell_ me she loves me. I take her physical comfort because I _know_ she loves me, but the lack of words makes me uneasy. Hermione is a woman of words. Until she says them to me again, there is that little bit of doubt at the back of my mind that refuses be erased.

We kneel on the floor wrapped around each other for several minutes before we hear Ron groan. I scramble up and move to his side, pain slicing through my joints as I do so.

Falling to the floor beside him, I glance at Hermione, silently asking how he is. Sadness fills her eyes as she silently pleads with me to do something to heal him.

_Damn._

A different sort of fear fills me. _What if my...delay...has killed him?_ I can't live with that. Even if Hermione would forgive me, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. To know that I was torturing Lucius Malfoy while Ron bled to death would be something I would never get over.

Ron coughs, drawing me out of my thoughts.

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth; blood soaks his shirt. Hermione's healing spell earlier must have bound the worst injuries, but not brought him out of the life-threatening range. His freckles stand out against his pale skin like flecks of red-orange paint.

"Right mess, aren't I, mate?" he jokes.

Hermione stuffs a fist into her mouth and turns away.

I have to clear my throat before answering. "You'll be playing Quidditch in no time."

He laughs. "Only if it's your Snitch I'm Seeking."

Silence. _He can't have just made a pass...could he?_ Then he winks. _He did!_

Laughing, I slap his shoulder and say, "You wanker."

"No," he retorts. "You do that."

We both laugh until he sobers uncomfortably. Searching my eyes with his blue ones, he asks hesitantly, "Seriously Harry, are you all right?"

Swallowing hard and glancing at Hermione - who is silently sobbing again - I answer, "No. I've been mostly dead all day."

Hermione turns in astonishment, snickers reluctantly, then breaks into full-fledged laughter. Ron laughs as well, then stops, groaning in pain.

I'm glad both of them remember the comment Hermione made to me when I asked what had happened after they healed me in Voldemort's dungeon.

I bend to give Ron a kiss. When our lips touch, his are nearly ice cold. _Damn him, the bloody bastard. Why didn't he say something?_

Keeping my lips pressed to his, I pull his right hand to my chest, matching scars. Love surges through me, but it's not as encompassing as Hermione's due to Ron's injuries. The feeling is there, but not the strength.

The sensation still causes Ron to jolt in surprise. I kiss him harder, coaxing his mouth open with my tongue. When he finally responds by opening his mouth and meeting my tongue with his, I continue holding his hand to my chest with my left hand and rest my right on his stomach. A taste of blood is in his mouth, on my lips and tongue. I smother the dark thrill that taste engenders inside me.

When I do, something I can't identify surges through us. It's good, it's Light, but too powerful to name with one word.

Briefly enough to disturb me, but also briefly enough to reassure me that the Dark seems to be held at bay, our auras flash and my green mixes with Ron's red. It's comforting in an odd sense, reassuring me that _something_ is working.

Concentrating, I ease that magic into Ron. He tenses under my hand and lips, but I hold him down, driving my tongue deep to duel with his and burrowing my hand under his torn shirt to place it firmly against his skin.

His back arches as whatever it is between us works to heal him. He moans into my mouth, both in pain and pleasure. I break the kiss to move lower, pressing kisses to his jaw and neck before stopping at his chest. I rest my lips there, gently kissing his skin and tasting it with my tongue.

Hermione moves in to kiss him, bracing her left palm on his shoulder. All our auras flash briefly, mixing the green, gold and red, before disappearing again. When Hermione's lips touch Ron's, I feel the resulting jolt to his system as well. It's like being plugged into an electrical socket, but without the pain.

Ron clutches blindly with his left hand before grasping the tails of my shirt, which is still on Hermione.

The power that fills me now is nothing like before. While not as seductive, it's just as intoxicating. There is some element of sexuality to it - I can't deny that if we try this when we're all healthy, it would lead to a mind-blowing climax - but it's underlain with the emotions shared between us, the sense that we are each one part of a whole.

I pull my lips from Ron's skin and rest my cheek on his chest, looking up at Hermione kissing him. She seems to sense me watching and breaks the kiss, turning to look at me.

A gentle smile on her lips, she kisses me softly, sending sparks through the three of us. Ron's gasp quickly turns to a soft moan.

"Better?" she asks, before swiping her tongue across my lips once again. A shudder of desire rocks me, sending a similar shudder through Ron.

"Yes," he and I answer at the same time.

I smile, pressing a light kiss to his chest.

Hermione returns the smile briefly before frowning. "We have to contact the M.L.E.S." She pauses, standing. "Are there magical coroners?"

As I sit back on my heels, I see the lecherous grin on Ron's face. I follow his line of sight and grin myself. Hermione is wearing _only_ my shirt and Ron has a perfect view under the hem.

"Hermione, you might want to put something else on," I suggest.

She shakes her head slightly, distracted, as she looks down at me. "What?"

"You're treating Ron to quite a view. And while you may not mind that, we can't call the M.L.E.S. until you've got more on."

"Hmm?" Then she seems to realize what sort of view Ron has and glares at him. "You should have said something, Ronald Weasley."

"Well, Hermione Granger, it would ruin my fun if I did," he replies dryly. His tone is so matter-of-fact that it reminds me of Hermione when she talks about _Hogwarts: A History_.

I snicker as she huffs and retreats to the bedroom.

Ron groans softly as he sits up, rubbing his chest. I move behind him to prop him up, pulling his head gently back to rest against my chest. His hair tickles slightly, but the sensation is welcome.

Now sitting, Ron gets his first look at Lucius Malfoy, who happens to be lying directly in front of us. A shudder runs through him; flickers of both disgust and satisfaction filter through our connection.

"Ron?" I begin, suddenly fearful again. Hermione watched what I did and understood it wasn't _really_ me doing it no matter what I may have said, but Ron was unconscious for most of it. _What if he's the one who can't forgive me?_ "Please talk to me."

Ron swallows hard before turning away from Malfoy. His words are muffled by my chest when he finally speaks up. "Did you do that?"

"Yes," I respond tentatively, running my fingers through his hair. I'm not sure whether to take Ron's words positively or negatively.

He tips his head back and looks up at me, blue eyes slightly bloodshot but steady. "Good," he says fiercely, his aura briefly flashing a uniform deep crimson, before resting his head against me once more.

While relief and pleasure that he isn't disgusted flood me, Ron's reaction disturbs me as well. He's _happy_ I killed. I killed out of necessity so Hermione wouldn't die, but the fact he's dead seems to be good enough for Ron.

"Ron, I nearly killed him in cold blood."

"One of us had to kill him." Ron's voice is flat but firm. He truly believes that Malfoy Senior had to die - and his tone implies to me that if I hadn't killed him, Ron would have found a way. No longer under the influence, I don't know if I agree, but the deed is done and cannot be undone.

We're both silent for a long moment, lost in our own thoughts, his breath on my skin the only sign of movement.

"You didn't answer Hermione's question about coroners," I say quietly, trying to choose a relatively neutral topic to ease the tension between us.

Ron's eyelashes sweep down as he closes his eyes. "The M.L.E.S. takes care of it all."

The silence that follows is broken by Hermione returning. She's put on a pair of jeans and a bra in addition to my shirt. She tosses me a sweatshirt, which I lay on the floor next to me. I don't want to give up the skin-to-skin contact with Ron quite yet. I need to feel his warm skin next to mine until the remembrance of his ice-cold lips dissipates.

I close my eyes and rest my chin on the crown of Ron's head, wrapping my arms around him tightly. I hear Hermione take Floo powder from the jar atop the mantle, then toss it into the fireplace and call the Ministry of Magic.

After a short discussion via Floo, Hermione returns to us. She nestles herself against me and under Ron, resting her head against his chest and her body against my side. The only way we can be closer is lying flat against one another.

When the Magical Law Enforcement Squad arrives moments later, that is how they find us: huddled next to Lucius Malfoy's dead body with Draco Malfoy's unconscious body lying under glass shards across the room. It takes the witch psychologists several tries to pry us apart, the space between us growing larger until we can't touch each other at all.


	7. Epilogue

**The Space Between  
Epilogue - One year later**

I pace the hallway of our house. I was in Hermione's room until the midwitch - the wizarding world's midwife - kicked me out about an hour ago; Ron's still in there.

"Sit _down_ , Harry," Ginny Weasley - _no, it's Longbottom now_ \- barks at me. She motions to the empty space on the sofa beside her with her cup of tea.

I flop myself onto the sofa and begin bouncing my leg up and down, trying in vain to work out the nervous energy I'm feeling. I feel Ginny's eyes upon me and turn to look at her. She's smiling at me and barely repressing laughter.

"What?" I ask impatiently, folding my arms across my chest and stretching my legs in front of me.

Before she can say anything, however, we hear Hermione yell. My heart plummets into my stomach, twisting it in knots. It's all I can do not to cover my ears like a four-year-old. To know that I've caused her pain rips my heart to shreds.

_Thank you, Hermione, for finding a binding potion for our scar._ The potion is relatively short term - it should last a day - but it means I'm not experiencing labor with her.

"I think you're more nervous than she was," Ginny finally says, amused.

I jump up and begin pacing again. "Of course I am, Ginny. Neville hasn't addled your brain, has he?"

She leans back, patting her pregnant abdomen. "No, hormones have. Doesn't mean I'm not right."

The door opens and Ron pops his head out. "If we let you back in, are you going to be okay, mate?"

Swallowing hard, I nod. Ron opens the door further, allowing me readmittance. "How is she doing?" I ask quietly.

"She'll do better with us both here," Ron replies.

We arrive at Hermione's beside and the midwitch glares at Ron.

"I told you not to leave her side," she berates in a tone so like McGonagall's, I'm surprised there isn't a Scottish burr in the words. She slaps a damp cloth into Ron's palm before returning to the foot of the bed.

Ron moves to the side of the bed and begins gently wiping down Hermione's sweating face. Hermione grits her teeth and moans, clutching Ron's other hand so hard she leaves fingernail indentations on the back once she finally releases him.

I stand there feeling stupid and useless. Not knowing what to do with my own hands, I tuck them into the front pockets of my jeans and rock on my heels.

Hermione's eyes snap open and lock with mine. She narrows those brown eyes at me and purses her lips. "Get over here," she says, biting off each word.

My palms begin to sweat as I make my way to the other side of the bed. I resume my place at her side in the chair placed there hours earlier.

Before Hermione can begin to berate me for my earlier loss of control, another contraction hits. She already has Ron's hand in a death grip, but she gropes for one of mine as well. I offer it, then immediately regret it.

The tips of my fingers turn white as Hermione cuts circulation to them. She moans, panting, until the contraction passes. Exhausted, she collapses onto the pillow where Ron blots her forehead with the damp cloth again.

I turn to the midwitch. "How much longer?" I don't know if I can stand to see Hermione in pain for much longer. Labor has already lasted 20 hours and she hasn't even begun pushing.

"It will take as long as it takes, Mr. Potter," the midwitch replies cuttingly. She doesn't approve of our...living arrangements, but is being paid well enough to ignore her distaste long enough to assist Hermione.

I bite my lip to refrain from retorting in a similar fashion. Something about her tone reminds me of Draco Malfoy - who is now locked away in Azkaban prison.

A shudder runs down my spine when I think about how close I was to a cell next to his. Mitigating circumstances - namely the physical assaults on Ron and Hermione - and public pressure kept me out of prison. The fact my solicitor told me to use the public's sympathy made me feel just as dirty as the deeds I performed. But I did it. If I hadn't, Hermione and Ron would have been without me and that was something none of us could live with.

"I want to push," Hermione grunts, levering herself up onto her elbows.

Ron and I look at each other when the midwitch reaches inside Hermione to check the baby's position. The nervous, disgusted smile on his face assures me that it _is_ creepy seeing someone's _hand_ inside Hermione.

"You may," the midwitch says. "You're fully dilated."

Hermione doesn't answer verbally, but with another grunt. She clutches my hand, this time digging fingernails into the back of my hand.

Distantly, I hear Ron counting evenly to ten, then Hermione releasing the breath she'd taken and subtly relaxing for a minute.

I feel so out of place. My history has been to take life, not bring it into the world. I never knew my parents, have no brothers or sisters...in fact, I'd never held a baby until a couple years ago at the Burrow when Bill and Fleur visited with their first daughter just before we were kidnapped.

She was so delicate I didn't want to hold her. I knew my hands would break her. Then Ron compared her to a Snitch: she only looked delicate, but was really made out of something tough. Bill teased him for reducing his child to a Quidditch analogy, but it got the point across.

With trembling hands, I held a baby for the first time in my life. Margaret Rose Weasley, with her tufts of strawberry-blonde hair and big blue eyes, looked up at me in wide-eyed wonder. I joked at the time that she was staring because I didn't have red hair. But there was something in that baby's gaze that both frightened me and empowered me.

It frightened me that a small child like that three-month old baby could wrap me around her finger without effort. Some primal tug made me want to protect her at all costs. And, even knowing now what "all costs" entails, the answer would still be the same.

That power, that drive, also empowered me. Her guileless blue gaze, the gaze that reminded me so much of Ron when he's just woken up, seemed to feed right into my unspoken need to be needed. The need to feel loved unconditionally that I rarely admit to having.

That need is there for everyone. But for me, for someone who had no friends until I was eleven and didn't realize those friends were the loves of my life until we were 21, it's like trying to fit myself into a puzzle I don't know the shape of. Growing up with the Dursleys certainly did nothing to help me understand what love is.

But finding Ron and Hermione and holding that baby have gone a long way toward helping me understand that force. Ron and Hermione are the better parts of me, they complete me. It's a truth I often ponder, and will believe until my dying day. I'm nothing without them.

Hermione's fingernails into the back of my hand again draws me out of my thoughts.

"I'm going to kill you, Harry," she spits at me with such venom that alarm fills me. I dart my eyes toward Ron, who shrugs.

"Apparently all women say things like that during labor," he replies.

If I'd known that I would have insisted on staying out of the room. I didn't sign up for Hermione abusing me until the end.

Hermione whips her head around, tightening her grip on my hand as another contraction tightens her abdomen. "Don't you dismiss me, Ron. I can kill you, too." She hisses a breath out at the midwitch's demand, then continues, "And I'll do it with my bare hands."

"Push, Hermione," Ron says, his voice quavering uncertainly.

Hermione's hand creeps further up my arm until she's gripping my forearm so hard there will be bruises. At the end of Ron's count to ten, she stops pushing and glares at me. "You did this to me and I wish I hadn't blocked our connection." She drops her head and pants before continuing viciously, "I want you to feel pain."

_I'm afraid._ I'm beginning to think I don't know Hermione at all. Ginny tried to warn me many hours ago that Hermione wouldn't be herself, but I didn't understand that I wouldn't recognize her either.

The midwitch shifts and looks up at Hermione. "The head is starting to crown. Take a deep breath and bear down."

I look up and see Ron wince as Hermione actually draws blood from his arm; she merely deepens the bruising on my arm when her grip tightens. A loud, low moan emanates from deep within her as she lifts her shoulders from the bed, tucks her chin to her chest and bears down.

I step to my left enough to watch the baby's head crown. _Oh, Merlin, I think I'm going to be sick._ It's just not natural to see Hermione stretched like that. With a last grunt, the head emerges.

There is a faint covering of downy brown hair on the baby's scalp. The midwitch quickly suctions the baby's mouth and nose. Before I can even wrap my mind around the fact the baby is nearly here, Hermione bears down again, a cross between a grunt and a scream issuing from her mouth. One shoulder emerges. Another push brings out the other shoulder. The rest of the baby just seems to fall out once both shoulders have emerged.

It's a girl.

Suddenly lightheaded, I drop to my knees beside the bed. _A baby. There's really a baby._

Ron gently takes the baby from the midwitch, wrapping her in a large swaddling cloth. It's as I'm watching Ron clean the baby's face with one corner of the cloth that I suddenly find myself on the floor though my arm is still trapped on the bed by Hermione's death grip.

The midwitch leans over, looking down at me over the edge of the bed. "Are you okay, Mr. Potter?"

The baby cries for the first time. It's a sound that pierces my heart. Though I'm terrified, all I want to do is comfort her. Ron shushes her, saying nonsense things in a low tone that seems to comfort her.

Looking up at the midwitch, I blink and answer her question. "Not really."

She smiles indulgently before returning to Hermione.

"Harry?" Hermione says tentatively. I manage to return to my knees, but my stomach stays on the floor. She looks worn out, but I've never seen her more beautiful. She returns my weak smile with a smirk. "Shall we tell the world you can't watch babies being born?"

"Everyone has a weakness," I reply, shifting my gaze to Ron and the baby.

Ron is enraptured. As I watch, he lifts her from his chest to hold her close to his face, playing with her fingers and toes and making cooing sounds.

"Ron, let Harry hold her," Hermione says, yawning.

Ron looks at me and grins evilly. "The Boy With The Weak Stomach wants to hold the baby?"

I manage to get to my feet, wavering slightly as if I'm pissed. Hermione snickers, but releases my arm. My shaky legs making me feel like a newborn pony, I make my way around the bed to Ron and the baby.

The baby gazes solemnly at me when Ron holds her out to hand her over. Nerves worse than those before my first Quidditch match are making me nauseous. Swallowing hard, I reach for her.

She seems to sigh as I take her in my hands, cradling her. Somehow I maneuver her to lay parallel to my chest, her head resting in the crook of my left arm with the rest of her supported by my left forearm.

_Baby. This is our baby._ I don't notice the tears streaming from my eyes until my vision blurs. Ron stands in front of me, cupping my jaw with both hands and wiping my cheeks dry with his thumbs.

I look up at him. The smile on his face is soft, as I'm sure mine is. It's the absentminded smile of someone who is so happy they don't care who knows it.

"Meet your daughter, Harry," Ron says. I can hear Hermione sniffle behind Ron, but the midwitch isn't through with her yet and we can't go near.

Blinking hard, I look back down into the baby's face. _This is my daughter. The next child is Ron's, but this one is mine. Ours, but mine._ She blinks up at me, her eyes a deep blue. She purses her mouth into a perfect pink bow before stuffing her fist into it.

Everything about her is so tiny. I can cradle her head in one hand. Her entire finger isn't any longer than my fingernail. Her nose is like an afterthought between her eyes and mouth. Her skin is still blotchy from birth, but pale like mine rather than like the slightly darker, easy-to-tan of Hermione's.

I look up at Ron before leaning forward and giving him a gentle kiss. I hear the midwitch scoff in the background, but ignore her.

"It's my daughter, Ron," I say quietly, still amazed. We've known since Hermione was three months pregnant that I was the father of the baby, but Ron and I have shared the paternal responsibility until now. He's content to step back and let this be mine. I don't know how to tell him thank you.

Stepping around him, I sit on the edge of the bed. Lifting the baby up, I say, "Hermione, meet our daughter."

I am entranced by Hermione's reaction. She almost visibly melts as she takes the baby from me. She lifts her gaze to lock with mine, tears blurring both our eyes.

In the background, I can hear Ron performing a memory charm on the midwitch now that she's finished with the delivery and afterbirth. When the door opens, there is clamoring outside, abruptly cut off when Ron closes the door behind himself. He is responsible for sharing the news with the Weasleys and Grangers.

Hermione smiles, yawns, and closes her eyes, cuddling the baby to her chest. The baby has already fallen asleep. "Elizabeth Victoria Potter, you're in for one hell of a life," she murmurs as she falls asleep as well.

Something inside me seems to click into place. _This is what I've been looking for,_ I think. _Something completely positive to drown out the negative inside._ I thought I had these things before: first, when Hagrid told me I was a wizard; next, when I made the Quidditch team and discovered there was something I was good at that no one could take away; last, when the three of us admitted our feelings for each other.

But as I watch Hermione holding Elizabeth, I realize _this_ \- a family with children - is what I need. I love Ron and I love Hermione - so much, so deeply, that the darkness inside me killed for them - but my child is my heart.

The door opens and closes softly.

Ron stands behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to my neck. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he whispers, "Beautiful, aren't they?"

I rest my hands over his, giving him a sort of reverse hug. "Yes, they are."

Surrounded by love, I can only hope that the darkness inside me is buried for good.


End file.
